


You Decide

by Rigel99



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Do You Want Me To Be Author Of All Your Pleasure Or All Your Pain?, Let's Play a Game, M/M, Post-Skyfall, The Inevitability of 00Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-01-04 19:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: So. Should Bond stay? Or should he go? You decide.A gift for the 00Q FB group.





	1. Stay Or Go?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JuJuBee (Marcy09)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marcy09/gifts), [fabricdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/gifts), [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [timetospy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetospy/gifts), [Venstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/gifts), [cherrygoldlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrygoldlove/gifts), [Dazeventura6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazeventura6/gifts), [roseforthethorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseforthethorns/gifts), [Chestnut_NOLA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chestnut_NOLA/gifts), [AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts).



Q was asleep on the couch in his office.

Restless. Fidgety. Dreaming.

The door was open a crack. A hiss and a slither sounded from the floor. Thirty seconds later, it quietly clicked shut.

It was the movement of something long and alien across his chest that caused his eyes to flutter open sleepily.

In the same moment, 007 came crashing through the door, startling both Q and the snake, its natural instinct to whip forward and sink its teeth into the flesh beneath Q’s collarbone.

Bond was fast but not as fast as the reptile, grabbing its tail and yanking it away.

“Don’t move!” barked Bond. Q froze, the shock of what had transpired hitting him like a wall.

Bond grabbed a tray from Q’s desk, tipping out the contents before placing it over the slippery intruder.

Within seconds, he was on the couch with Q, looming over him, staring him down. The deja vu of the position in which the snake had moments ago pinned him flittered on the edge of his thoughts.

“Do you trust me?”

But Bond didn’t wait for a reply, baring his shoulder. Clamping his mouth unhesitatingly around the bite, he sucked hard.

Q could only writhe beneath him.

* * *

**Twenty Minutes Later….**

“Well,” said Doctor Spencer, withdrawing the syringe from Q’s neck, “judging by the lack of discolouration around the bite, I’d say Bond managed to successfully…”

“Suck?” Bond supplied helpfully from where he was lounging in the corner of the room.

Q scowled.

“I was going to say _extract_ the toxin from your body before it took hold of your nervous system. The antidote should take care of any remnants.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Q replied, buttoning up his shirt. “I don’t suppose you’ve anything for the enormous hickey with which Bond has adorned me?”

“You know what they say, Q. Time heals all wounds,” Bond quipped.

* * *

Bond had insisted.

And frankly Q’s senses were too addled by events of last couple of hours to argue. The tube would be a nightmare at this hour anyway.

“Lucky I was in the vicinity. Otherwise the slippery beast may have got the better of you…”

“Yes _actually_. What the blazes were you doing “in the vicinity” at the same time as said intruder, Bond? Seems an _awful_ coincidence.”

“What on earth are you implying?” Bond said, not taking his eyes of the road, weaving a slow but steady trail through the relatively quiet back streets of London towards Q’s residence.

Q turned a bespectacled steely gaze focus towards him.

“The implication, Bond, is that there are no coincidences where you are concerned. Trouble doesn’t just manifest its jolly arse out of nothingness. Where you are concerned, trouble is usually brought along for the ride and has its own sodding passport!” he huffed, shifting his body to face the dashboard once more and folding his arms across his torso.

“Ah. Here we are,” replied Bond, turning down a side street and lodging the Aston in a reserved spot.

Q didn’t say a word, opening the passenger door when Bond killed the engine and swinging his legs out onto the pavement. His legs however, had decided they weren’t up to the task of supporting his slight form and promptly collapsed beneath him.

Bond was out of his seat and by his side in an instant. Neither man said a word, Bond scooping him up with strong arms but giving him some dignity by not carrying him. His grip firm around Q’s waist, Q’s arm around his shoulder, they mounted the stone steps to Q’s block and fumbled their way inside. Bond closed the door behind them but made no move beyond that.

He simply watched Q drop his bag, and slip off his coat and shoes in an almost simultaneous move. In that second, a low meow sounded from what Bond assumed was the living room and a fluffy Persian strolled through the door with feigned disinterest.

“Turing,” Q mumbled, scooping him into his arms. “A friendly face at last.”

Bond thought it looked anything but friendly, scowling over Q’s shoulder at him, as they moved towards the kitchen.

Q turned in the doorway. “Well? Are you just going to stand there like a…” Q appeared to be searching his databanks for the word.

“… Sexy lemon?” Bond supplied.

Q rolled his eyes and continued towards the fridge. “I fail to see what’s sexy about lemons, 007. But whatever floats your boat.”

Bond obligingly followed.

Q plonked Turing on the counter while he retrieved his bowl from the ground and an already opened food pouch from the fridge.

Bond leaned in the doorjamb, watching still.

The purrs filled the silence, a comfortable silence nonetheless.

Q stroked the sleek furry body while Turing ate, which merely seemed to push the decibels of the purr up a notch. “You didn’t answer my question, 007.”

Bond used his shoulder to push himself from the doorjamb and sauntered towards the pair. He extended a hand towards the cat, Turing’s rear popping into the air to invitingly give permission for further strokes.

“Just doing my duty, Quartermaster,” Bond rumbled, his fingers gliding down Turing’s back and partway up a swishing tail.

Q frowned, and turned away to fill the kettle.

Bond stepped closer. “Should I leave?”

Q restationed the replenished white good and switched it on.

“Do what you want,” he replied, turning around to face him once more.

Bond took another step.

“I’m asking, if you want me, to stay.”

The handle of one of the kitchen drawers dug into Q’s back. He focussed on that.

“Is it your duty to do so? Orders from M?”

“No.”

“Then why would you?”

“I don’t know.”

They were almost nose-to-nose now, less than a foot separating them. Turing, oblivious to all but the meal before him, devoured.

Bond was solid as a rock in a stormy sea. Q was mirroring him move-for-move. He reached for his glasses and took them off, screwing his eyes shut for a brief moment and pinching his nose in an effort to soothe away the stresses of the week. When he opened them again, Bond was a breathe closer than before. He moved to return his glasses to his face, but Bond snared his hand. Keeping eye contact, he took the glasses from his hand and brought Q’s fingers to his face.

“What do you think you’re doing, 007?” But he did not stop him, folding his fingers so the knuckles glided along the stubble of his cheek.

“Do you want me, to leave?”


	2. Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you want him to stay? Our Q ain't no pushover. Bond's going to have to work for it. ;)

**Six Months Previously. The Birthplace of Olivia Mansfield.**

“Coming, Q?”

Moneypenny walked around the open grave where their former Chief of MI6 had been laid for her final rest to stand next to him, while he stood staring into the gaping earth. Bond and Mallory hovered nearby.

“What? Oh. Um. No. I think I’ll just go back to the hotel. Not in the mood for being social with the higher ups and such.”

“Are you sure, Q?” Mallory wandered over to them.

“Quite,” he said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Don’t blame you at all. If I could get out of it I would. Head back. Take Bond with you,” Mallory rumbled.

“That’s not—“

“No arguments. I’m not having one of the SIS’s most valuable assets wandering about the Surrey countryside without a protection detail.”

Q tried to withhold a deflating sigh and schooled his expression against the frown threatening to darken his brow.

“As you wish, Sir.”

* * *

Q was silent on the car ride back to the hotel, spending most of his time looking out the window. Bond watched him from the corner of his eye.

He maintained a quick marching pace from the hotel car park to the reception to collect his key. Bond was well aware that he was attempting to put as much physical distance between them as he could ably manage.

But it was when they got to the lift that Bond finally cracked his steely composure, watching the door slide shut against him.

Q finally spoke through an unamused smile. “This one’s crowded enough. Get the next one, Mr Bond.”

Bond bit back a growl of frustration and slammed through the door to the stairwell, taking two at time to hit the floor the same time as Q and confront the pompous little arse.

He was vacating the lift when Bond rounded the corner behind him.

“Q!”

Q ignored him, fumbling for his keycard on the approach to his room.

“Q! Dammit!”

He slipped into his room but was not quite quick enough to shut the door in Bond’s face. Bond slammed the door with his shoulder, forcing Q back into the room, flinging it shut.

He was breathing hard from the exertion so took a few deep breaths to calm himself before speaking. Q had his back to him, pouring himself a drink. Knocking it back, he refilled his glass.

“You blame me…”

The second drink was about to burn down Q’s throat but instead he allowed the simmering rage to burn the atmosphere hanging heavy around them. He rounded on the agent, flinging the tumbler, aiming for his head. Bond ducked beneath its trajectory, giving it free passage to shatter against the wall next to the door.

“OF COURSE I FUCKING BLAME YOU! YOU took her there! A fucking sacrificial lamb to slaughter!!”

Q started pacing the room in front of the window, the words spilling unhindered from his pent up mind, twisting through the air like daggers of sound.

“Everything - EVERYTHING! - you touch turns to shit, Bond!! Why is that, hmm? Why do buildings collapse? Good people get hurt? Good people die?!”

“You were supposed to protect her!! You failed her! I mean, why do they ever keep you on the programme? In the Service? You should be cleaning the fucking toilets in Q Branch after what you did!”

The insults were flowing like a river of pain so Bond saw no reason in that moment to withhold himself either.

“ _I_ failed her? You helped me lead Silva there! Didn’t even bat a fucking eye, you hypocritical little shit.”

Q stopped pacing and looked at him disbelievingly. But Bond wasn’t done.

“And we wouldn’t have had to retreat and trap him with her as bait if you hadn’t failed the Service, by practically giving him an open invitation into MI6s system!”

Q’s face was like thunder when he marched up to him and planted a fist to his jaw. Granted it wasn’t a very hard punch but it did sting and threw Bond slightly off balance. Q balled his fist for another crack at it, but Bond easily caught the move in the palm of his hand and pushed him backwards, tightening his grip. He flung him bodily against the bedside table, sending the lamp crashing to the floor. Bond lay the forearm of his free hand across his throat, Q flailing and failing to get purchase of anything meaningful on Bond’s bulk so he did the only thing he could.

He kneed him in the groin. And Jesus Christ, Bond barely flinched.

“Of course you weren’t around when LeChiffre left his mark were you? I’ve walked through a world of pain and back again,” Bond huffed. "Nothing you do or say can break the barriers I've built up."

He grabbed both wrists and pinned him against the wall.

Q stopped struggling.

“Are we calm yet?” Bond asked, his whole body leaning into him to stay another attack at his groin.

“Get out,” Q said flatly though his breath was quick and hot against Bond’s face. They had never been in such intimate proximity before. Bond became aware of the unique smells assuaging his senses. The tea Q perpetually drank in lieu of food; the hint of engine oil and the even fainter scent of gunpowder, almost undetectable beneath it all. The Service. In human form. Everything for which Bond had sacrificed himself - and others - time and time again. Ad infinitum.

The rush of arousal was unexpected.

Bond pushed himself away and stepped back. Q was calm but he still looked feral. Like a trapped tiger posed to tear itself out of captivity.

Bond turned away, every intention of leaving the room to patrol the hotel and secure the perimeter. As was his job in his guard dog capacity.

He opened the door, only to find it slamming shut again and Q’s hand grabbing his upper arm to wrench him around.

The kiss that followed, sent fire searing through his blood, Q’s strong fingers questing through short hair, heightening the needy sensation pulsing from him. Bond grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back, studying his face. He was flushed equal with anger as by arousal, his breath fast, eyes dark.

Well.

That’s one way of working through loss and pain.

Funeral sex doesn’t wipe the slate clean. But the act of getting hot and incredibly dirty for an hour between two men who’ve wanted one another since exchanging words laced with undertones of a mutual attraction tempered by flirtatious banter goes a long way.


	3. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to finish it before I went to sleep. I don't know where it came from. The muse was just in the mood I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics: M's funeral (past)
> 
> Regular: Q's home (present)

_Bond’s back was plastered against the hotel door._

_Q was plastered against his chest, Bond's shirt partially undone, while he hungrily explored the scars adorning his torso._

_Bond tipped his head to the side and focussed on the liquid from the smashed tumbler dripping down the wall. He grabbed his chin and pulled him into another kiss, more heated and desperate than the first._

“The last time we did this…”

“… Was the first time we did this…”

“We were seeking comfort, running away from the damage we’d done.” Q spoke quietly, his gaze on Turing, the cat contentedly filling his belly.

Bond had dragged his hand from the grazing across a rough cheek to his mouth. Q was biting his own lower lip, fighting the urge to succumb.

It would be so easy.

_“This could easily do irreparable damage to our working relationship,” Bond’s voice was rough, a total contradiction to the smooth hand gliding up and down his cock. Bond, in turn had found Q’s, his gun calloused trigger finger running smoothly across its glistening crown, again and again and again… Until Q was gasping. Months of pent up frustration spilled from him and not long after Bond himself, glad of the support of the door, released himself with a low growl, his face buried in Q’s neck._

_“Can I stay?” Bond mumbled into his shoulder._

_Q dragged himself away from him, pulling him towards the bed._

Q stepped around Bond. A little distance from the question always helped him come to a decision. He leaned his hands on the back of a kitchen chair and dropped his head low with a sigh.

“I’m not sure… I think about that day - M’s funeral - sometimes. Sometimes, I wonder… if part of me ever really left that hotel room…"

“Which part?”

But Q remained silent whether unable to lend voice to the thought or unwillingly, only he knew.

“I’ll go.”

_Q was more aware of the hand gliding down his back than any other part of their present reality, chasing the goosebumps rising like a wave towards his arse. The lightness of Bond’s touch reminded him to…_

_“Breathe, Q,” Bond whispered against his shoulder blade._

_Q exhaled a moan when Bond mounted him, fitting his returning erection between his cheeks._

_“Bond…” Q whispered, clenching around him._

_“Trust me…”_

“Do you trust me?” Q’s voice cut through the silence just as Bond reached his front door. He glanced back, his eyes bright in the dimness of the hallway light.

“I was coming to your office to apologise. For leaving you alone in the hotel room that day. It was despicable, and I wish I could undo it.”

“Regret is unprofessional, 007. And if I recall correctly, I made the first move. You owed me nothing.”

“Perhaps. But seeing you threatened within the supposed safety of the walls of MI6 today, only reminded me that it was a mistake. It’s taken me this long to realise how much I need you. And not just in my ear.”

“Stay.”

_“You don’t have to stay,” Q whispered against the pillow, though he wasn’t sure if Bond heard him, his breathe evening out suggesting a slide into sleep. Whatever had passed between them here, in the wake of the passing of the woman in whose shadow they had both lived, would have to be enough. They couldn’t give each other any more. The risks would be too great._

Bond moved towards him, Q unbuttoning his shirt and running his hand across the dual wound of the snake’s and Bond’s bite.

“Are we stepping out of the shadows, Quartermaster?”

“The risks are great, but I’m told the rewards are many,” he said, Bond reaching for him, Q giving him silent permission.

The truth is, we can always give more of ourselves. It’s only then we know what we are truly capable of. Love can be seeded with a few casually exchanged words; in a brief passage of time, it fights its way from beneath the darkness towards the light.

And in that light, sometimes dim, sometimes bright, it finds the strength to blossom.


	4. Rescue & Release

**The Morning After Mansfield's Funeral**

The air in the hotel room had an oppressive quality. Q slowly cracked open an eye and reached clumsily for the remote control of the air conditioner. A sliver of light was breaking through the blackout curtains, nudging him to his feet. Duty waits for no man or woman, even though Death waits for us all.

He swung his legs over, stood and stretched in one fluid move and headed for the bathroom. He did not have to look to know the side of the bed occupied earlier by Bond was vacant and cold.

He stepped into the warming sprinkle of the shower, but did not acknowledge the salted taste slipping between his lips, like lost tears in the rain.

* * *

The following weeks continued as the weeks were wont to do; M and Moneypenny settled into their respective roles like the dedicated beasts that they were, Moneypenny keeping a sharp eye on the rumblings at MI5 through her extensive grapevine, while M wrestled with the finer and more challenging detail of filling the shoes of the finest Director ever to grace the position he now held.

Q had maintained laser-sharp focus on his work and ensuring the ever-growing confidence and competence of the staff closest to him whom he expected to become agent handlers continued to evolve. So it was not without irony that one month on from the burial of his former M, Q found himself facing another loss.

Agent Coulson - competent, experienced and a downright lovely chap to cap it all - found his cover blown and on the run. Q had dotted all the eyes and teas prior to depositing him exactly where he needed to be to source the required intel, so it was with some frustration that Coulson had been recognised by a former US contact - also there - who had recently turned mercenary.

Q could only watch helpless on the other side of the world as his life signs flatlined. But he’d be fucked if would give up on an agent. Not until he was in the ground. So he continued to speak to Coulson, doing the only thing he could to keep him connected to the living world, providing the sound of another human soul to remind him that he did not let go; it was his duty to his country to not give up; there was more work to be done; more lives to be saved; not least Q’s own. Was he being selfish? Assuredly. But he would not let you go, Coulson. And if this is your way of getting out of the drinks you owe him for the last time he hauled your arse—

_Beep._

A single sound. The sound of life. Q’s adrenaline spiked.

Medivac were almost there. Blessedly. Hands shaking, he handed control over to R only when they stabilised the agent. She looked at him with her usual measure of awe and admiration, accepting the headset with a smile and a nod. He retreated to his office on surprisingly steady legs that inwardly felt with jelly.

And from the back of the room, a silent observer followed.

* * *

 “You care too much.”

Q startled from his bracing position, palms flat on his desk supporting him while trying to regain his composure. He didn’t even hear his door softly open.

He rolled his shoulders back and met Bond’s gaze squarely.

“Better than not caring at all.”

Bond’s eyes narrowed and in two strides he was in front of him. He took his chin in his hand, fanning his fingers along his neck, the smallest one coming to rest lightly on his pulse. The touch only lasted a couple of seconds before Q batted away his hand and rounded his desk.

“Will you be alright?” Bond asked, sounding not even remotely interested in the answer.

“Of course I’ll be alright. I’m the fucking Quartermaster. Now if you’ll excuse me 007, I have work to do,” he replied brusquely, opening his laptop and beginning to type rapidly.

Bond turned and exited.

Q clenched his hands into fists and took a breath. He picked up his phone and hit Moneypenny’s number. She picked up on the second ring.

_“To what do I owe the honour of a call from our illustrious Quartermaster?”_

“I need you to take me out, get me drunk and make sure I get home safely.”

 _“Consider the first round on me,”_ she replied, already appraised of Coulson’s status and Q’s involvement in the mission.

Q rung off and put his head in his hands, shoulders shaking and releasing waves of tension from his body and his mind.

The evening couldn’t come quick enough.


	5. You WHAT?!

“You WHAT?!”

A few of the pub’s patrons glanced briefly at the corner occupied by Q and Moneypenny.

“Moneypenny shhhhh… Please…”

“You did _what_?” she repeated, lowering her voice to a strong whisper.

“I think you heard me the first time,” Q whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially. The third gin was having the desired effect.

He was grinning stupidly around the rim of the glass, looking more idiot than boffin in that moment.

She put her fingers to her lips and giggled, evidently not far behind Q in the tipsy stakes. “Well? Any good?”

Q frowned, like he was trying to recall the interlude in detail. “I have a vague recollection of a semi-blinding climax so I’m going to go with fucking—“

“Ah marvellous.”

Moneypenny sat back, her face breaking into a full blown grin. Q glanced over his shoulder at the suited manifestation of agent hovering over him.

Bond flopped with casual ease into the armchair next to Moneypenny and opposite Q.

Q sat back slowly, eyes unreadable over the rim of his glasses but clear as though sobering up at the sight of him. “Are you stalking us, 007?”

“Maybe. I’m bored,” he replied, gesturing at a hovering floor staff to put in a drinks order. He ordered them each a drink without bothering to ask if he could join them. He settled back and rested his gaze on Moneypenny.

“So. Anything interesting to impart from the top and nether regions of MI6?” he enquired with easy nonchalance.

It was twenty minutes of flirty banter with Moneypenny and the usual snark with Q - now with an added edge of dancing round the blurry parameters established by their recent sexual dalliance - when a delivery man strolled into the pub towards the barkeep. Q’s ears perked up when he heard the man ask if there was a James Bond in the building. He approached the trio holding a small rectangular package.

“Mr James Bond?”

Q rolled his eyes and Bond smiled as he caught the words muttered, “So much for secret agent” under his breath. He signed his name on the e-pad and accepted the package. Eve being Eve and Chief of the SIS grapevine of course couldn’t help herself.

“Oh James! You shouldn’t have!”

James huffed a laugh. “The audacity, Miss Moneypenny. Not all the gifts are for you, you know.”

Moneypenny sat forward then, grinning. “Oh. So it IS a gift then?”

Bond looked at Q, silently observing him, Moneypenny and with the occasional glance at the package now tucked between his thigh and the arm of the chair. He decided there wasn’t any point in being coy about it. Two sexual encounters, both of which he had exited the scene before Q had awoke, determined they were beyond coy. It was a compulsion with Bond, loving and leaving. But with this gesture, he had subconsciously proven to himself that he wanted it be something more.

He just needed to prove it to Q.

One grand gesture might do it. Bond was nothing if not at his best as a risk taker.

He turned a laser sharp focus onto his former fellow agent. “Eve. I hate to ask…”

Eve sighed. “No you don’t, James.” She picked up her bag and rose from her seat.

Q sat forward, looking momentarily alarmed at being left alone with Bond, caught himself, realised he was being ridiculous and shifted back into the armchair again.

“See you tomorrow, gentlemen,” she said, gliding out of the pub to a few appreciate stares.

Bond watched her all the way to the door.

“Would you?” Q asked, before lifting his glass to his lips.

“Who says I haven’t?” 

Q laughed into the glass. “I know for a fact you haven’t.” Bond shrugged in response. He was right of course. He hadn’t even gotten to second base in Macau.

Speaking of Macau…

Bond slid the package forward and placed it on the low table between them.

“For you.”

Q’s eyes narrowed.

“So suspicious, Q. I assure you my motives are honourable.”

Q’s eyes narrowed another fraction. Bond's smile widened.

He crossed his arms defiantly. “You open it then. If it’s not set to explode in my face you have nothing to worry about.”

Bond shook his head and swept it up. He took the black case out of the box and placed it back on the table.

He literally saw Q’s face light up in anticipation. “Is that…?”

“Open. It. Q.”

He _did_ reach forward tentatively, unable to resist satisfying his curiosity and placed it in his lap.

He flipped open the lid. The expression on his face could have rivalled the rising sun.

“My… Walther…? How…?” he whispered, while running his fingers across the weapon he had lovingly designed for the agent. Bond watched him intently, gauging his reaction which was exactly what he had hoped for.

“I went back to Macau. Called in a favour. Apparently that Komodo ate something that didn’t agree with him…”

Q’s face broke into an unbelievable smile, the first Bond had seen directed his way since M’s death.

“And this?” Q said, pointing at the empty spot next to the weapon. Bond reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out the radio. He extended it to Q, their fingers brushing as he took it, re-igniting fond memories of their first meeting. Q’s eyes had taken on, one might call it, a certain liquidity of the eye?

Just maybe…

Bond stood. “When you’re ready…” And left.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later, Paris**

The petite raven haired thing was hanging off Bond like a limpet as they strolled down Rue Crémieux. He sighed. The mission was over - a success - as usual guided by a dark-haired boffin only an English Channel’s breath away. _What the hell_ , Bond thought, wrapping an arm around her waist and sweeping her in a kiss, he deserved a reward, and if he couldn’t have—

_Beep Beep Beep._

His phone pinged an unfamiliar sound. He broke the kiss to pull it out of his pocket and looked at the display.

The radio app.

Q.

Bond pocketed the phone and hailed a taxi, bundling his companion into it. “Mais mon amour…” she protested.

“ Désolé ma chérie, il y a un endroit où je dois être,” he said sadly before slamming the door and giving the driver directions to her hotel.

He immediately flagged down another taxi and climbed in. Only a couple of hours separated him from the dark-haired beauty he really wanted to wake up next to in the morning.


End file.
